


Where The Heart Is

by ElisabethMonroe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And hates Starbucks, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Homeless Youth, M/M, Modern AU, set in New York
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisabethMonroe/pseuds/ElisabethMonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which:<br/>Grantaire wants a nose job<br/>Enjolras sticks his foot in his mouth several times<br/>Courfeyrac is a Ninja Spy<br/>And The Amis help the Homeless Youth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjolras You Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which:  
> Bahorel has morning wood  
> Grantaire has a job  
> And Enjolras is an asshole

_Grantaire grinned into the kiss and pressed his boyfriend back against the sand dunes they were hiding behind, fingers clenching around the ever shifting wall over the other’s shoulder. “Nicky, move your hips,” he demanded, snapping his own against his boyfriend’s. “Come on. Someone’s gonna come see us.”_

_The brunet ran his fingers through Grantaire’s darker hair and pulled his face up for a more in depth kiss before he suddenly had them turned around so Grantaire was against the sand. “Isn’t that part of all the fun, Gigi?” he teased, knowing how much Grantaire hated the nick name._

_“For you, maybe, Mr. Out-To-The-Whole-World,” Grantaire shot back, arms going up to encircle Niccolo’s neck loosely. “It’s not so easy for those of us who have to hide.”_

_“Then stop hiding, mio amore,” Niccolo offered, kissing across Grantaire’s jaw._

_“Sorry, have you met my father?” Grantaire asked as he tightened his fingers in the other’s hair._

_“You know I haven’t, Gigi. You won’t let us be on the same street much less face to face.”_

_“There’s reason for that,” Grantaire said quickly, ducking his head to kiss the other gently. “Don’t make me tell him. Please. I could lose you and I don’t want to.”_

_“Tu sei la mia vita, il mio sole, e il mio amore,” Niccolo breathed with a smile. “I love you, Grantaire. I will love you if you’re out or not. I will love you if you tell me your first name now or never. I will love you if continue not believing in God or if you convert right now. I will love you now and I will love you then and nothing’s going to change that.” He chastely pressed a proper kiss to Grantaire’s lips and the dark haired boy smiled._

_“Ti amo anchi’io,” Grantaire breathed back. He pressed his forehead to his boyfriend’s and sighed deeply, never having been so content or felt so safe in his life._

 

“Get that disgusting thing off of my back right now, Bahorel,” Grantaire growled lowly as he grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his head to block out the morning light coming in through the window. He felt rather than heard Bahorel chuckle before shifting to lay on his back.

“I thought that was what friends with benefits fixed,” the bigger man hummed.

“Do you forget that’s only when we’re drunk or exhausted?” Grantaire turned to glare over his shoulder, last night’s antics clear on his face.

“You seem pretty exhausted,” the boxer noted with a smirk.

“Fuck off. You get me when you can’t get lucky and you know it,” the artist grumbled, standing up and taking the blanket with him to rifle through his drawers and closet to find something wearable. He pulled out a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans along with clean boxers before going to the bathroom down the hall. He didn’t even have time to shut the door before he felt Bahorel shake his small flat as he fell out of bed because the giant was actually the klutziest person after Bossuet out of the ring, and come into the bathroom. He wrapped Grantaire in a familiar hug and kissed his neck.

“I think you’re underestimating what we have. We’re special for each other,” he hummed, tracing rhythmic circles on Grantaire’s hip bone.

“Yes, the assurance that we’re going to get laid continues to be the high part of my bar hopping nights,” the cynic intoned drily, stepping away from his friend to start the shower. “Get out. I don’t need distractions. I start at Starbucks today then I get to go face the wrath ‘No-Big-Corporations-Enjolras and I’m going to need to be as relaxed as possible before I start on this adventure.”

“Do I not relax you?” Bahorel chuckled, moving his hands to massage Grantaire’s shoulders.

“Enough, `Rel!” Grantaire snapped, shaking the other’s hands off of him. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed and tired and I don’t want to take on another job but I have to save money…” He shook his head and only stopped when a soft pair of scarred lips pressed to his.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine. How hard can mixing drinks be? You do it at the bar all the time.” He smiled good naturedly and kissed Grantaire again.

“I think it’s a little different than that, `Rel,” Grantaire sighed, leaning against him.

“You were this nervous before you started working with me too. You’re going to be fine.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head before pulling away. “Leave some hot water for when I wake up again.”

Grantaire shook his head and stepped into the shower when Bahorel shut the door behind him, closing his eyes, focusing on the water, and praying to deities he didn’t believe in to help him survive the day.

 

“You’re working where?!” Enjolras shouted before Grantaire had even sat down. He did so with a loud sigh and tugged on the traitorous shirt that had given him away.

“I’ll bet you can read just as well as anyone else who walks by me,” Grantaire hummed, forcing a obviously fake smile.

“After everything we did to avoid that establishment…”

“Everything you did, Apollo-mine,” Grantaire interrupted. “I didn’t touch that campaign with a seventeen foot pole because I’m not hipster enough to hate what hipsters love.”

“That is not what the protests are about, Grantaire!” Enjolras argued, holding his hand out to emphasize his point, as if gesturing to the other wall proved that Starbucks was, in fact, awful. “It’s about underpaid employees and overpriced lattés and the cultural brainwashing that is taking away from small businesses!”

“Enjolras, open your eyes!” Grantaire groaned. “It’s such a stupid protest in the first place! Starbucks was a small business that flourished. That’s it. And, let me tell you, they don’t pay awfully.” He shook his head and leaned on the wall, eyes closing. “What is a group of ten to fifteen people going to do to change anything?” he demanded. “You’re not going to bankrupt the business on your own. And even if you did, that would put you on the exact same page you claim Starbucks is on since you claim that’s all they do for small businesses.”

Enjolras seethed at the front of the room and Combeferre put a gentle hand on his elbow. “That’s not what tonight’s going to be about, Enj,” he said softly, in just the right way to get Enjolras to calm down.

The blond looked at his friend before taking a deep breath. “Starbucks aside, we are starting on a more meaningful campaign, one some of us may be able to relate to.” He waited to make sure he had the attention of the room minus Grantaire who appeared to be sleeping against the wall. “We’re going to start helping with the homeless youth in our area. We’ll begin with a donation to help youth homes that are already established and possibly help start another. We’ll be helping with education there as well, telling them what to expect in the real world, how to get jobs, how to apply for school, things like that.

“Our public mission is to get the community involved as well. Information is key to this problem. A lot of adults think that homeless teens are runaways or drug addicts which just isn’t true.” A hoot came from the back of the room but no one bothered to see who it was. “We’ll also need volunteers. People to speak. Even past homeless youth as well, who’ve come from it stronger.” Grantaire snorted but made no other movement and said nothing else. Enjolras glared at him. “I was hoping some of us may be able to start that initiative,” he ground out, eyes hard on Grantaire.

“You know I can, E,” Feuilly called. “I can talk about any of that shit. Orphanages, living on my own, foster families, being homeless.”

“Thank you, Feuilly,” Enjolras said, relaxing slightly. “I will also talk about my experiences.”

“Which were what exactly?” Grantaire asked with an incredulous scoff. “Sleeping in a park for a night while Mommy and Daddy cooled off?” He rolled his eyes and settled against the wall again.

Enjolras closed his fingers into a fist and glared at Grantaire. “If you’ve got nothing constructive to add to the conversation, I suggest you leave.” The cynic made no move and Enjolras hit the table in front of him. “Now, Grantaire!” Unfortunately used to this, the room did not jump. Grantaire simply opened his eyes, fixed Enjolras with a hard stare and stood up without breaking eye contact.

“Courf, text me if you need flyers, yeah?” he called, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping away from his chair. Enjolras stared right back and his lip curled into a snarl.

“If you’d like to be so useless in meetings, I don’t see why it wouldn’t carry over into other parts of your membership. God knows you don’t do much else.”

Grantaire’s jaw tightened and he shook his head. “Whatever, Apollo. Enjoy your time without me.” Grantaire finally looked to the rest of the room. “I’m serious, Courf. I’ll help with whatever you need. Goodbye my muses, I will see you all once the king has come off his high horse.” He mockingly bowed to Enjolras. “Sire,” he spat out sarcastically before turning and leaving without another word.

The door to the back room banged shut, then the front door before anyone said anything.

“Enjolras, what the hell?!” Courfeyrac demanded. He was standing at the front of the room, looking a bit panic stricken.

“Seriously, man, what the hell’s your problem?” Bahorel demanded in that deep voice that ricocheted off the walls and amplified. “He just asked a fucking question. A legitimate one seeing as you tell us shit about your past.”

Joly stood up then as well. “I think I’m going to go after him. Talk to him. He’s always so upset after you.” And that actually hurt Enjolras because he didn’t finish the thought. It wasn’t ‘after you yell at him’ ‘after you kick him out’ ‘after you argue with him’. Just ‘after you’.

“I’ll go with Joly,” Bossuet said, standing with his boyfriend.

“Don’t go feeling sorry for yourself, Fearless Leader,” Eponine snapped from where she was. “We all know that look. You hurt him. Not the other way around. He didn’t provoke you. He just fucking walked in the room before you went off.”

Only then, as always, did the weight of what Enjolras had set sink into his shoulders. He didn’t know what it was about Grantaire that just set him off. Everything. Nothing. Something. Even Jehan was looking at him as if he were extremely disappointed in the other.

“Two weeks,” the young poet said softly.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras asked, turning to look at him again.

“It had been two weeks since you and Grantaire yelled at each other. It was the longest stretch we’ve seen since he joined. Two Weeks.”

 


	2. Grantaire is Kind, Grantaire is a Stranger, And a Stranger is Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which:  
> Grantaire isn't so bad  
> A donation is made  
> And change is set in action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention that the flashbacks are to when R was about sixteen and he progressively gets older.  
> TW in this chapter for child abuse so skip the last half of the memory if that's a trigger for you. It's just mentioned, not talked about

_“Mio amore,” Niccolo soothed softly, smoothing down Grantaire’s hair with one hand and brushing the tears off his cheek with the other. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He leaned forward and kissed Grantaire’s forehead._

_“It’s not going to be okay, Nicky,” Grantaire whimpered, holding onto the other tightly. “I’m moving. We won’t have our beach. We won’t have our café. We won’t have our library. We won’t have each other,” he sobbed against Niccolo’s shoulder._

_“Gigi, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. We can do a long distance relationship. I’ll write to you every day. 365 letters,” he promised quietly, moving his hand to rub Grantaire’s back. “Maybe, when we get older, you can come back to me or I can go to you and it’ll be like we never left each other.” He kissed Grantaire’s hair while the other nodded against his shoulder._

_“I don’t want to leave you, Nicky. I love you.” Grantaire looked up at him with wide blue eyes. His eyes were always brighter when he cried. Niccolo had said it was because his tears washed away the pain that settled in his blue seas._

_“I love you too. We’re going to be okay. Now, let me see what happened when you yelled because you always yell, my tiger.” He smiled softly and pulled away to wipe tears off Grantaire’s face._

_The artist pulled up his shirt and let Niccolo look at the bruising seeping across his sides. The brunet looked pained and grabbed the satchel he’d brought with him, far too used to Grantaire’s needs when he got a text like ‘dunes. please. im not okay. –G’ While it appeared that most of the damage was purely emotional from Grantaire’s viewpoint, Niccolo was always there to tend to the physical reminders._

_“Not so bad this time,” he murmured as he rubbed muscle salve on Grantaire’s ribs. The other boy shrugged then cringed._

_“He wasn’t really angry. Just wanted me to shut up.”_

_Niccolo straightened up and kissed Grantaire gently, but with a fair amount of force behind the gesture. “I’m here now. You can say anything you like.”_

 

Surprised did not begin to cover how Enjolras felt when he saw Grantaire walk through the doors of the homeless youth shelter. The cynic’s eyes met his for a glance before he was talking to Courfeyrac and the other curly haired man was grinning. Enjolras turned to Combeferre who looked bemused.

“I told you he’d be here. He’s more hands on than you’d think because you refuse to see anything good about him,” the man hummed. He looked down at Enjolras from the steps he was standing on. The blond glared at him and fished in his pocket before withdrawing a ten dollar bill and shoving it at Combeferre.

“He’s just going to cause trouble,” he grumbled petulantly as he crossed his arms over his chest. Combeferre shook his head and turned to help with unloading a box of food.

Grantaire did not cause trouble, other than teaching some boy to spray paint better. He sat with the kids and made them laugh, talking animatedly and with bright eyes. At one point, he was in the middle of a large group of some of the older kids who’d been reluctant to join in the shenanigans all day and he was showing them something on his arms and then his ribs. The kids all reacted in like, rolling up sleeves or pants or pulling up their shirts or brushing their hair off their neck or shoulders.

The next time Enjolras saw him, Grantaire was in a room of little kids, reading them a story. His back was to the door and Enjolras leaned on the door frame, listening to Grantaire change his voice for every character and make monster noises when appropriate. He watched the little ones start to fall asleep around Grantaire until only the one in his lap remained awake and she too fell asleep. He waited for Grantaire to stand, set her on a bed, and leave, but he didn’t. He remained with his cheek pressed to her head and the fifth book he’d read open in his lap. It took a few moments for Enjolras to realize he’d fallen asleep as well.  He hastily retreated, knowing someone else would rouse the artist eventually.

All in all, it was not a bad day.

 

Enjolras stared at the envelope in his hands. Behind him, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were equally silent, trying to find the joke. “Combeferre, you count it this time,” Enjolras demanded, holding the mail up. The doctor did as he was told, pulling out the stack of bills in it.

“1600 dollars,” he confirmed after a brief pause. He handed it to Courfeyrac. “You’re turn. We all know how great you are when it comes to counting money,” he teased.

Courfeyrac mimicked what his friends had just done. “1600. Sixteen 100 dollar bills.” He held them up to the light and stared, trying to find the forgery.

“Who anonymously donates 1600 dollars?” Enjolras asked in disbelief as the money was handed back to him. The other two shrugged. “And while we’re not doing anything. It’s been almost two months since we said anything publically. We’ve only been doing things within the homes.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “It was just sitting here when I came in earlier. Obviously it’s someone who knows us,” he offered. “Maybe they’re keeping up with the Facebook or Twitter or Instagram.” There was a hint of pride behind his voice because, hell yeah, his social media was working.

Combeferre took the money and slid it into his laptop bag. “The question is, what do we do with it? Give it directly to a home? Put it in the HY savings? In the Amis’ personal savings?”

“Let’s use it. If we just put it in a collection or bank account, too much can go wrong. If we give it to the home, they might not use it for what needs to be done. We’ll talk about it at the meeting.”

 

Grantaire was not at the meeting. Enjolras tried to remember the last meeting the man had missed and couldn’t. Combeferre missed more meetings than Grantaire. Enjolras shoved the thoughts out of his mind and drew their meeting to order, explained about the money and asked what to do with it.

“Spend it ourselves,” Joly said automatically. “We’re unbiased. No taxes, no paperwork. We can use all 1600 hundred dollars however.”

“Okay, that’s a very good point, Joly,” Enjolras congratulated. “Now, how do we spend it? While we’ve been volunteering, what have you noticed they need the most of?”

“Beds,” Bahorel called out.

“Blankets,” Feuilly added.

“New clothes,” Jehan said.

“Books,” the new guy supplied softly. Marius. That was his name. Timid little thing. Which, Enjolras supposed, he couldn’t blame him since Enjolras had had a particularly stressful (Read: Grantaire-ful) week and had snapped at him quite harshly about voting for Romney.

“Can someone find out how much cheap beds cost?” Enjolras asked the room. “And we can hold a donation for blankets and clothes as well as buying new ones. As for books, that may have to be put on a back burner, Marius,” Enjolras finished with a vaguely sympathetic look to the boy.

“Well, why not hold a donation or book drive as well?” Jehan asked, looking to Enjolras then Marius. “Lots of libraries discard old books and simply throw or give them away. Book stores do the same. Perhaps not Barnes and Nobel but definitely smaller book stores who have too many of the same title.”

“Depending on what you want, just a mattress can cost anywhere from twenty dollars to a little more than one hundred. And those are the cheap prices. A full bed frame, for a bunk bed is anywhere from 150 to an outrageous amount of money for some wood and metal. I assumed bunk beds are what you wanted,” Feuilly said, holding up his phone as evidence. “I’m sure you can find both for less elsewhere but at Walmart and Target at least you know they’re new and clean.”

Enjolras nodded. “Good. We’ll look into that. Marius, you and Jehan can start organizing a book drive or asking for extras. I would definitely look to set up a drive in schools and children populated areas. Kids are always more willing to give than their parents.”

Marius nodded, looking a little shaken but determined and Jehan flounced over him, settling down in the seat next to him and pulling out his tablet laptop that he was very rarely without.

Looking into his crowd of action, Enjolras couldn’t feel more proud. They were really going to change something and they were going to do it a person at a time.


	3. Courfeyrac No Meddling!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which:  
> Courfeyrac is a Ninja Spy  
> Enjolras is an asshole  
> And Grantaire even more so

_To: GigiIsn’tMyName@hotmail.com_

_From: NickyIsWhatTheyCallMe@aol.com_

_Day one and I miss you like crazy. Tell me how America is. I want to know about New York! You better send me pictures of you at cool places! And not like the statue of liberty and merda. Like your favorite bakery and music shop. Ti amo, mio amore, sempre._

_To:NickyIsWhatTheyCallMe@aol.com_

_From: GigiIsn’tMyName@hotmail.com_

_Day four and I miss you even more. America is busy. We still live in a bad neighborhood and I had it because I still jump when I hear a gunshot and worry about you. I fucking hate being poor, Nicky. I want overseas or international text and calls. :-( I haven’t really been anywhere but the school yet ‘cause he’s still driving me around. I’ll explore as soon as I can. For now, have a picture of me pouting on my bed and thinking about you._

_[DwnldAttch?]_

 

hey, hey, hey, enj, enj, enj. –C

**What is so important, Courf? –E**

i think i figured out who the anon. donor is. –C

**Courf, they were anon. for a reason. You don’t need to meddle. –E**

yeah, but i already figured it out. can i just tell you? please? –C

**I have a feeling you’re going to anyway. –E**

it was R. –C

**…-E  
What the hell do you mean it was R? –E**

i mean that R gave you the money. –C

**Courfeyrac, R is probably the poorest one out of us all. If he just had $1600 laying around don’t you think he’d pay bills or for a new seat of jeans? –E**

enjolras, you’re doing that thing where you’re an asshole again. –C  
anyway, no. you know he got that job at starbucks and you were king dick about it and kicked him out? –C

**I couldn’t forget if I wanted to with you around. –E**

i am not the only one reminding you of your fault. –C  
ANYWAY. –C  
he was saving up money for a surgery, right? –C  
and i did the calculations and that’s how much he should have saved at that point. –C

**How did you know what calculations to use? –E**

because i’m a Ninja Spy! –C  
… -C  
he was explaining to joly and ‘suet how much he was taking out of every check. –C

**You’re sure it was him? –E**

he told bahorel that the surgery fell through. –C  
why would his surgery just fall through? –C  
what does that even mean? –C

**What surgery is so damn important? –E**

…-C  
don’t tell him i told you. –C  
he wants a nose job. –C

**What? Why the hell would he want a nose job? –E**

gee, i don’t know Mr. I’d-Ask-You-To-See-Past-Your-Own-Nose-But-That’s-A-Large-Obstacle-For-You. –C

**I didn’t say that. –E**

yeah. you did. enj, do you not even know what you say when you say it? –C

**I just get so worked up when he’s around! I stop thinking! He makes me irrationally angry! –E  
Anyway. Back to the donation. So, you’re saying R gave up his surgery money? –E**

yeah. you need to talk to him. kindly. –C  
don’t yell at him. please don’t yell at him. –C

**I’m not going to yell at him, Courf. –E**

and don’t tell him i told you either. –C

 

**R, we need to discuss something. –E**

oh fuck me. what now? i didnt do it. -r

**It’s about the anonymous donation we got a few weeks ago. –E**

im sure i should know what youre talking about. –r

**I think you do. –E  
The donation was you. –E**

was it now? i can hardly pay my electric bill. how would i donate that much money? –r

 **Courfeyrac told me about your surgery. –E**  
He told me about how you’re saving up for it. –E  
And that the amount you saved was the amount donated. –E

where’s this going? –r

**Thank you. –E**

im still not sure it was me. –r

**It’s the first project you immersed yourself in. –E**

i didnt do it for you. get off your soapbox. those kids deserve better. –r

**Yes they do. Thank you for not holding your grudge for me over them. –E**

for gods sake get out of your own fucking head. i dont have a fucking grudge against you, apollo. you are the most conceited man ive ever met and ive met plenty. not everything in my life revolves around you. shocking i know. –r

**I…wasn’t…saying that. R…I’m sorry for what I’ve said in the past. I’ve been told that it was hurtful, disrespectful and unnecessary. –E**

no fucking shit. i fucking missed that. –r

**All I’m trying to say is thank you! –E**

just fucking leave me alone apollo. it was anon for a reason. i dont need this bullshit. dont treat me any differently. continue to hate me. maybe youll feel guilt or regret. itll be good for you. –r


End file.
